


Jungle

by ChickInRed



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: 1860s, Blood Offerings, England - Freeform, Feral turtles, Indigenous people, Island - Freeform, Jungle, Language Barrier, M/M, Survival, tcest, warriors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:07:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28742964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChickInRed/pseuds/ChickInRed
Summary: Desperate to prove himself worthy to the professor who raised him, Donatello accompanies him to a secret island where he sets out alone to study the place of his birth; only to discover that he's anything but alone.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 20





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> !!Warning!!  
> This fic is set in the 1860's and will be written as accurately to that time period as possible.  
> Expect to read the following-   
> racism, sexism, homophobic slurs/hatred, and other highly offensive/triggerable things throughout the story.

He pushed his way through massive ferns, his heart pounding and breath ragged as he ran, ran for his life from a beast behind him. He’d never seen a monster like it before, a combination of God’s creation and Hell’s demonic spawn itself, a true marvel of evolution! If only it wasn’t trying to eat him!

An ear-splitting roar bellowed around him, shaking the very earth beneath his feet as he sprinted. 

“This would be utterly fascinating if I wasn’t certain I was about to die!”

Hanging onto his hat the man bolted through a tangle of vines, praying he wouldn’t get caught as they bounced against him.

The creature roared again, the very sound sending his heart into his throat. “Bollocks!” He squeaked, and ran faster, only to regret it as his foot connected with something hard.

He crashed to the jungle floor, spluttering as leaves filled his mouth, but he barely noticed as the earth beneath him rumbled.

There was a vine-covered mass up ahead, that much he knew, and he scrambled for it; his mind filled with nothing but obscenities unfit for decent folk. 

When he reached it he threw himself behind it, pressing into a small space at the base of what felt like a moss-covered rock. It was torture to control his breathing but somehow he managed to stifle his gasps.

The ground around him vibrated as the beast closed in, the undergrowth crunching beneath its massive feet. The jungle ferns rustled, and the man’s jaw clenched. He was pretty sure he’d stopped breathing altogether when the monster crashed into view. 

It was green and stood on two legs like a man, with tribal dark green swirls etched into its scales. Its hands were webbed but had long clawed fingers similar to a human and a long pointed snout that opened to reveal jagged teeth. Spines covered its neck and back, all the way down to a swishing thick tail which seemed to flick with every twitch of its glassy yellow eyes.

The scaly beast looked around, growling softly under its breath, and the man was sure his beating heart would give him away at any moment.

He was indeed in an inscrutable amount of danger. 

The creature’s leathery head snapped up and twisted in his direction, and the obscenities began to race through his mind once again. His eyes widened more than he thought possible as he plastered himself against the rock, thinking rock thoughts, becoming one with the rock, trying not to move, breathe or so much as blink.

The green monster stood taller on its two legs, its cream-colored chest expanding as it took in air, and then let out a bellow that froze the very blood in the man’s veins. It turned and charged, claws brandished into the trees adjacent him and disappeared. 

He stayed where he was, too frightened to move, the only sounds coming from him, an undignified whimper.

“Great Scott…” He gasped, grateful for the first time that he was alone with no one to see or hear him. “I need to get out of here.”

He was just about to pry himself from the rock’s surface and attempt to flee back to the safety of his ship when something odd caught his eye.

There were pots, clay to be exact, painted green with black and yellow pictures of what appeared to be turtles all-around their sides. There were fruits and tubers similar to vegetables he’d seen at home, along with smooth stones and shiny pebbles that seemed to form a spiral pattern out from beneath the ferns. 

Flowers were there as well, some growing, others wilting on the ground as though deliberately picked and placed there. Yet that wasn’t what had captured his attention.

There was a book. Or, at least it appeared to be a book, just a few feet away in between what he could only describe as ritualistic pagan offerings. It was sitting under a particularly tall clump of ferns that appeared to be braided with flowers, wide open and laying there like someone had placed it there on purpose. 

He leaned forward, sure enough confirming that the off white rectangle was in fact a book, and most curious of all, there were pictures and writing, all of it appearing to be in English. 

That could not be right; as far as he knew, no one who spoke the Queen’s tongue had ever traveled this far across the sea, save for him.

Sure that he was hallucinating due to a moment of insanity brought on by a surge of far too much adrenaline; he shifted the fern aside and reached out to touch the paper.

The smooth feel of parchment beneath his calloused hands confirmed its existence. “How did you get here?” He muttered under his breath, and began to examine just what it was. 

There were pictures of men, artists to be precise, and ones that he recognized; there was Raphael, Leonardo, Michelangelo, and Donat-“

Movement in his peripheral vision drew his eye from the great sculpture’s picture. A small mound in the sandy soil was forming, poking up as something dug its way to the surface.

Little bits of sand tumbled away as a small form pushed its way up. A green flicker of skin flashed from beneath the soil and a hand popped free, waving its three fingered palm in the air…No, two fingers and a THUMB! An opposable thumb!

He sat there stunned, staring at what appeared to be another hand pushing its way to the surface, and a large head that soon followed.

It chirped, whatever it was, it’s eyes crusted with dirt as it pulled itself from the earth. The dirt fell away, revealing a shell and he realized just what it was. It was a turtle, a baby humanoid turtle, a true and undeniable example of evolution itself!

Without thinking he reached out and brushed some dirt from the little creature’s head. It flinched from him, but didn’t pull away. Instead it peered up at him, blinking away the dirt with large dark eyes.

“Aren’t you fascinating.” He whispered. Brushing his fingers across the creature’s shell, he felt the firm but flexible boney structure beneath his fingers. “It’s blasphemy, and yet…here you are, living proof. Everything Darwin himself has been preaching.”

The little turtle chirped again, its stubby fingers wrapping around his as it continued to pull itself from the dirt. He helped it some, brushing more dirt from it as it was born from the earth, taking in every inch of the beauty mother nature had created as it hoisted itself into his hands.

It was surprisingly light, maybe a pound or two? Three pounds at most.

He lifted it, inspecting its feet, its human like toes, six in total, its little tail still flecked with dirt that swished as he watched; it latched onto his thumb as he did and sucked on it, searching for food. 

While a normal turtle’s shell was a rigid shield that neither moved nor allowed for any flexibility. This creature’s spine appeared to have the capability to flex with its carapace and plastron; that could suggest the possibility of erect, bipedal locomotion- but he was getting ahead of himself; by the look of it, the little thing had only just been born- hatched, before his very eyes!

Rockwell lifted the tiny shelled creature a bit higher to peer at its underside. “Male, or female?” He couldn’t help but mutter aloud, wondering if perhaps, the creature was built like a human with the anatomy somewhere visible. He didn’t find anything.

Just a touch disappointed, he lifted the hatchling and held it just under its arms so its legs dangled. “I’ll bet the old boys back at Cambridge would love to get a look at you.”

The small turtle scrunched its face and curled its legs up, its tail tucking up between them; and in seconds Rockwell was darting out of the way as a fine stream of, what one could only assume was urine, shot out at him.

“Alright then.” Said the man, aiming the infant reptile away from him until it had finished, “You're a bit rude. So let’s just assume you’re a male for now.”

Once it was done, he turned it back to him and allowed it to once again grab onto his thumb and suck on it.

“Fascinating.”

No matter which angle he looked at it, the little creature sitting in his hands was impossibly the absolute perfect example of science and evolution; _Chelonia Habilis._

He’d be famous, he’d be rich! He’d be in history books!! 

He couldn’t help but grin as he stood. He’d made up his mind, this little creature was coming home with him.

He was just about to reach around for his bag and grab his notebook to document everything he could about the nesting site where the creature had been found when an ear-splitting roar bellowed from the trees.

He jumped, the young turtle chirping in fear and withdrawing into its shell as he whipped around. He’d forgotten about the other monster…

“Oh, dear.” In seconds he’d scrambled to his feet and bolted, racing away to escape the-

\-----

A loud bang interrupted him as a gavel fell atop the judge’s stand. 

“Enough!” The judge snapped, the white curls of his wig waving as he shook his head, “We of the court have heard your testimony of how the creature was found before. What you have failed to answer, and continue to fail to answer, is where the creature was found, neither of which is relevant to the case at hand, now is it, Dr. Rockwell? If there are no more witnesses-“

Dr. Rockwell stood up tall and cleared his throat, “I do believe I already stated we were waiting on someone. I was simply helping pass the time. I’m sure my men will be back any minute now, though if you wish to be impatient then I’m sure I can entertain you with another story. Perhaps one of our many visits with Queen Victoria? Her Grace is quite fond of Donatello. Speaking of which, we are supposed to visit her again for tea and luncheon; quite the honor considering how rare it is for her to grant an audience with anyone these days. Perhaps the court would rather hear one of those stories to curb your impatience?”

The judge’s eyes narrowed, unamused. “One more smart remark out of you and I shall move to deliberation immediately. I would also remind you, Doctor, that despite your good standing with the Crown, THIS court follows the laws set by Parliament. Her Majesty’s affinity for animals will not grant you any leeway here. The only reason we are accepting a pause is due to your reputation at the university and the BA.”

“Of which I am immensely grateful, you remember.” Said Rockwell shortly, his words holding but an edge of the temper he wished he could release upon them. “But as I have stated for over eighteen years, Donatello is perfectly harmless. He is intelligent, capable of human speech and willing to learn.”

“As is a parrot!” Snapped the judge, and the men who’d remained silent in the stands behind him murmured their agreement, reminding Rockwell that they were all very much still there. “Yet if a parrot turns on its owner or those around it, it’s caged.”

“No!” 

Rockwell refused to turn as he heard Dr. O’Neil stand. 

“Please, caging him won’t do anything but harm him. His intellect is far too evolved-“

“Silence!” The gavel slammed again, and this time all the lords began to chatter, mocking and muttering, whispering about the Devil’s abomination.

“Dr. O’Neil, you have been warned once before; evolution is a theory and not one recognized by this court. One more outburst from you and I will have you physically removed and held in contempt.”

Rockwell didn’t spare his associate even a pitying glance, but he assumed Kirby must have wisely chosen to sit back down, for the judge’s attention was focused back on him all too soon.

“As for you; call your witness, Rockwell.” Spat the judge, “Or else remove yourself from the stand and prepare for our verdict.” 

This was not how this was supposed to go. “He will be here.” Said Rockwell calmly, refusing to allow his frustration to fester into worry, “Please, gentleman, all I need is a few more moments of your time. I’m sure he is simply behind schedule and will arrive any moment.”

Sitting back in his chair, the judge frowned, his gaze locking on Rockwell’s. “A moment is all you have left.” 

Keeping his face straight was hard to do, yet he remained calm before the white wigged imbeciles that had been fighting with him for years. He only needed a little bit more time, just a few more minutes for his men to-

The sound of doors creaking open filled the court, turning every head in the room. Both of his men were there, walking in with heads high.

“Finally.” He sighed under his breath, and whipped back to face the judge. 

“Now then,” He said with the utmost confidence, “Where were we?”


	2. Ch. 2

Dogs barked all around him, others whimpering and howling while those slated for death simply laid in their cages with their noses poking through bars. 

Everything smelled like urine… feces too, along with the stench of infection from mutts with untreated wounds.

It was torture to be there, huddled in the back of a filthy cage too small for him to stand. It was his own fault, he knew that, he just hadn’t expected to still be there five days later. Tierd, hungry...worried.

He thought for sure that the man who’d raised him would’ve come for him by now.

The sound of a door creaking open momentarily silenced the barking and he tucked his limbs in closer.

The kennel master was not kind, he never was. He was a daft idiot incapable of any language other than profanity with a smell to him akin to that of a deceased canine that had been lying in the sewer drain for far too long. If he so much as looked at the man as he passed by his cage he’d have a cane jabbed at him again for sure. 

“Unhand me!” Came the sweet trill of a lovely voice that he hadn’t been expecting, and his head snapped up.

“Come now, ees not prroper for prretty lady!” Snapped another voice, one heavily laden with a Russian accent; and his hope soared; had they finally come for him?

The rapid clicking of heels against stone was answer enough, she’d ignored the warning and was no doubt searching for him. 

Sure enough, his red-headed angel came within view, her hair tied in a tight bun beneath her bonnet, with her beautiful blue eyes wide in alarm. 

They only grew wider when she saw him, her gloved hands stifling her gasp.

“Oh, Donnie. Why is he caged?” She demanded, whirling around to face someone, “Release him at once!”

“You vill be givink me keys now, yes?” Grunted the man with the heavy accent, and Donnie heard someone yelp.

“Let go, stupid Ruski!” 

The pained cry of the Pound keeper brought a small smile to Donnie’s face. It served him right after being so cruel...

Another flash of red appeared and Dr. O’Neil came into view. “Oh, Donatello.” He whispered, horrified as he took in the sight of Donnie behind bars. “I am so sorry.”

Keys jingled, and a black hand appeared, “Here you go, Dr. O~” Sang a happy voice, “Let’s get D outta here before more nosey reporters show up. You know how the big man gets when under the spotlight.”

Dr. O’Neil grabbed the keys and made quick work of the heavy lock, then pulled the cage door open, yet Donnie didn’t move, in fact, he lowered his gaze and focused on anything but Dr. O’Neil. 

“Where are his clothes?” Demanded April, looking him up and down before snapping her sights no doubt on the kennel keeper. “You stripped him of his clothes?!”

“’S a bloody turtle!” Snapped the keeper from somewhere down the hall, “Not a child! Some’d say ’s a demon from hell itself! I can’t believe they’re lettin’ ya just take it!” 

“Do ve neet to be gettink da officers een here?” Rumbled the Russian man, and the kennel keeper fell silent. “Dat ees vhat I am daht. Stay quiet leettle rabbit ant ve’ll be havink no problem.”

“Don’t you worry ‘bout nothing, Miss.” Hummed the happy voice, “He can have my coat. The important part is getting him out of here, right Doc?”

Donatello could still feel Dr. O’Neil’s eyes on him despite his refusal to meet the doctor’s gaze. 

“He is here…right?” Donatello asked quietly. 

Dr. O’Neil’s mouth opened and then closed, his gaze softening as he understood. “Of course he is. Dr. Rockwell is outside waiting in the carriage for you, he-” 

“Hey.” Interrupted a voice, and a familiar face appeared. It was one of the hired guards for their home, a body guard to be precise, and though his education was limited as a colored man, he always seemed to say just the right thing at just the right time.

“I know you probably real upset and all, but let’s be real. The longer we make the boss man wait, the madder he’s gonna get. Now, who you rather see upset? Him or you?”

“ _Thank_ you, Mr. Zeck…” Said Dr. O’Neil, pointedly loud to end the discussion; but Anton had made a very valid point…

“He’s right.” Said Donnie softly, all eyes turning back to him. He reached out his hand and asked, “May I have your coat?”

Mr. Zeck quickly removed his blazer and handed it out; only then did Donnie dare move.

Feeling more exposed than he’d ever felt before, he stretched his legs out of the cramped confounds of his cell and covered up what he could of himself as he stepped into freedom. 

“Here.” Murmured Dr. O’Neil, reaching out to help Donnie into the coat. He had one arm in and was just about to slide in the other when the good Doctor asked the one question he’d hoped they’d all forgeten to ask…

“Where’s his collar?”

The color drained from Donatello’s face and he tugged the coat in closer.

“Aye.” The kennel keeper grunted, and inwardly Donnie cursed. “Now _that_ belongs on an animal.”

Donatello pulled the coat in as tight as his shell would allow and looked down at the brick beneath his toes, refusing to look up even as Mr. Zeck grabbed the retched thing and returned with it.

“Donatello.” a soft voice whispered, and only then did he look up. 

April was beside him, a thick leather collar grasped in her white-gloved hand, and if anything, she looked just as miserable about it as he currently felt.

“Why couldn’t he have thrown that away too…” Donnie muttered, eying it with disdain, “Or burned it…”

“Donnie.” She whispered, holding his gaze, “You know you have to, or Dr. Rockwell will be arrested again, and we may not be able to help you then if that happens.”

Knowing full well that she was right, Donatello took a deep breath and held it, glaring bitterly at the thing in her hand.

“Would you like me to put in on, or-?” She trailed off, looking uneasy, and this time he reached out and took the stupid collar and slid it around his neck.

“We do need to keep moving.” He heard Dr. O’Neil say as Donatello lopped the leather through its buckle and pulled it tight against his dark green skin, “The sooner you are back with Dr. Rockwell, the sooner you will be out of harm’s way.” 

An unmistakable sound followed. A soft shift of leather being pulled from a coat pocket, a jingle of metal, and the clink of a brass clasp…

“I understand your feelings towards it, Donatello. But time truly is of the essence.” Sighed the ginger-haired man, “Now come. You can take it off in the carriage.” 

His heart sank. 

Slowly he looked up, spotting that _thing_ in the Doctor’s hand, the _thing_ that he’d been certain was secured by a slip knot around the neck of a very wild dog, before he’d been stupid and landed himself in a cage…

April, sweet April, picking the brown braided leather up so he wouldn’t have to, and offered it to him just like she had his collar. 

“You know you have to.” she whispered, and with the utmost contempt, Donatello plucked it from her gloved hand and clasped the metal end of his _leash_ to the ring on his collar. 

He and April turned for the door, his leash in his hand as always, when the Pound keeper stepped forward and made an obvious move to stop them.

With a scowl, the kennel man spat and raised a dirty finger at April. “I dun’ think so.” He said softly. “I was warned ‘bout that trick ‘fore you even showed up fer that thing. I dun’ care if it’s learned a cute trick of carrying its own leash or not; you take control o’ that animal or its back in the cage with it.”

Mr. Zeck snorted and slid quickly between them and the kennel keeper while Mr. Steranko, a one-eyed mountain of a Russian stepped closer to the foul man. 

Donatello’s fist clenched around his leash, and he tugged the coat in closer. _‘I am not an animal.’_ He thought bitterly, when he felt a small but delicate touch against his thick three-fingered hand.

It was April, seeking permission to grasp his hand, and he allowed her. Their fingers quickly twined, pinning the leash between their palms and she grasped it firmly.

She held her head high, urging Donatello forward, and headed for the door once more. 

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.” She said, refusing to look at the man as she made her way past him, with Mr. Zeck keeping a firm barrier between them and that monster as they headed for the main door. 

Donnie found her out of the corner of his eye, catching her smile in plain view for all to see. There wasn’t a hint of shame as she walked with him, nor a bit of repulsion as she touched his leathery skin through her glove, and he smiled. 

It was reasons like this that he loved the O’Neil’s. 

Mr. Steranko quickly took the lead, Mr. Zeck stepping behind them as Mr. O’Neil came up to flank Donatello’s other side; and the reason why became apparent as they neared the building’s entrance.

Shouting and yelling could be heard plain as day on the other side of the door with officers, obvious from their stance, visible through the windows. As they drew nearer the door opened, revealing men in uniform and a torrent of sound. 

_“Monster!_

_You’re letting it go!? Why are they letting it go!!_

_Child eater! You’re releasing a child eater!!_

_Bog trotter!! Curse you and your family you Irish bastards!_

_Repent for your sins Rockwell!! You will pay for releasing your monster on us!!”_

The police were shouting back at the angry crowd, their batons swinging as they snarled for the protesters to stay back.

Donnie refused to look at them or their signs, and instead focused on making his way to the carriages.

“We’ll meet you at home.” Said April softly as Mr. Steranko hurried forward and popped open the carriage door. “And try not to listen to them. They’re just afraid, and fear always leads to anger.”

“Run Rockwell and his beast out of town! That Nigger and Ruski can’t protect them forever!” screeched a particularly loud woman, and Donnie’s heart clenched. 

“I know.” He replied. 

When they reached the carriage, her hand began to release his and he gripped his leash tighter as she left him, his focus fixed on the dark inside of his father's carriage.

A shadow of a man was sitting in the far corner. 

Donatello cleared his throat, watching him uneasily. 

“I can explain.” He began, but the man cut him off.

“Get. In. The. Carriage.” 

Donatello shivered. The words were as cold as ice. 

“But-“ he tried again, however, Dr. Rockwell was most definitely NOT in the mood.

“NOW!” Rockwell snapped, and Donnie hung his head.

“Yes sir…”

Focused on the steps, he climbed in without a word and settled on the cushion across from the man who had raised him. He could feel his eyes on him, furious and glaring…

He was in so much trouble… Yet still, he couldn’t help himself.

As soon as the horses began to move, he unclipped his leash and hurled it as hard as he could, straight out the window.

“Woohoo! You gotta do better than that son!” Cackled Mr. Zeck from outside, and without looking Donatello knew his bodyguard had caught it. It was something they were getting frustratingly good at…

Donnie huffed, tightening the coat around him when finally, Rockwell spoke.

“Do you have any idea,” he whispered, “What you have done.”

Recognizing the danger in his tone, Donnie gulped. “I saved someone?” He replied, and Rockwell’s eyes hardened.

“A homosexual!” his father spat, “Of all the people in the world that you could’ve saved, it was a perversion of nature!”

“But he was going to kill him!” Donnie argued, “What did you want me to do? Watch?”

“Yes!” Rockwell spat, slamming his fist into the side of the carriage so hard it shook, “You should’ve drawn the curtians! You should’ve fetched Steranko, Zeck, Me, anyone other than yourself to deal with the matter!” 

Donatello flinched into his seat and looked anywhere but at Rockwell as he yelled. He’d never seen him so angry before, so…irrational. It was rather terrifying. 

A moment went by as Rockwell took a deep breath and pinched the brim of his nose. 

Donnie didn’t dare say a word, didn’t dare move, but did dare steal a glance and watch the man take yet another calming breath. 

Finally, his father sighed. “This world we live in, is an uneducated mass of stupidity and fear which drags down those of higher intelligence. I apologize for my temper.”

“It’s… it’s ok.” Murmured Donnie, “I’m assuming you heard a dishonest and manipulated tale of what actually happened so your anger is just. For the record I barely hit him. I just clocked him in the back of the head hard enough to make him drop his knife. I swear sir, I had no idea there were others with him, I thought he was alone.”

Rockwell’s shoulders sagged and he let out another exasperated sigh, “Lord Gavner’s son, is never alone.” And Donatello froze.

Neither of them spoke, the gentle clip-clop of hooves and general street chatter the only sounds filling the carriage; suddenly his caretaker's rage was making sense.

After an awkward moment, Donnie mustered up the courage to speak again. 

“Lord Gavner’s son?” he repeated uneasily, “As in, Dr. Falco’s friends? Those Gavners?”

“Yes.” Said Rockwell bitterly, and Donatello stomach flipped. He suddenly didn’t feel so well.

He closed his eyes, realizing his mistake. “How much damage have I caused?” 

“An extravagant amount.” Said Rockwell simply, and his tone went from tense to tired. “I did not believe I’d ever see you alive again.”

Donnie opened his eyes, looking up at the tired man still staring out the window. He could see it now, the circles under his eyes from when he hadn’t slept, the tension in his shoulders from where stress had taken its toll…

“Lord Gavner’s son came into the court.” Sighed Rockwell, “Covered in bruises and scratches. He told a tale of claws and teeth, making you sound like a vicious animal rather than the educated reptile that you are.”

“Well, I didn’t put those on him.” Murmured Donnie, “That poor fellow that Gavners son was fighting was struggling for his life pretty hard, obviously that must’ve been taken into account? The body would’ve shown bruises and blood on his knuckles, right?”

“There wasn’t a body.”

Donatello snapped his head up, his blood running cold. “Wait, what?” he murmured, “No, no-no the police showed up as Gavners men closed in around me. They didn’t have time to hide-“

“The homosexual lived.” Interrupted Rockwell, fixing his vest, “He is the only reason why you are still breathing, and why the court did not order the inspector to hand you over to Dr. Falco immediately.”

Donnie’s eyes widened. “W-wait, really?” Donnie asked, leaning forward, hopeful that at last mankind was beginning to trust that he wasn’t a savage animal, but a kindhearted soul out to learn and exist peacefully among them, “Just like that? They believed him?”

Rockwell however snorted, “Of course not. I had to call in a few favors and pay a few people a rather large sum of money, the O’Neil’s will be lucky if they are not run out of town, and I am fairly certain that I now owe a debt to a homosexual.”

Donatello hung his head, looking anywhere but at Rockwell. “I’m sorry.” He said softly. "I-“

“We need to keep our heads down for a while.” Continued Rockwell, “Luckily for you I already had a trip planned, even though I wasn’t meant to leave for another few months. So much for trusting you to remain at the house with the O’Neil’s while I was away...”

Donnie cringed, curling closer to his knees. He felt absolutely terrible for causing such a mess. All he had wanted to do was help someone in trouble, to do the right thing… 

To prove he wasn’t a monster…

“Now this answers the question. You’ll have to come with me.”

“Pardon?” asked Donnie, looking up at his father, sure he’d misheard. 

Dr. Rockwell was checking his pocket watch, confirming the time before he clicked it closed and turned his attention back to Donatello. “You will be accompanying me.” He repeated, looking anything but amused, “And due to these events being solely your doing, I expect you to assist in my studies. We can explore the details later, but for now, we shall assume you will be doing quite a bit of footwork.”

Donnie’s heart nearly stopped. He opened his mouth and then closed it, stunned by what he was hearing. “With you?” he repeated like an idiot, “I’m really going with you?” 

Rockwell raised an eyebrow at him, looking if possible, even more, unamused than before. “Must I say it a third time?” and for Donatello, that was confirmation enough.

He gasped in excitement, unable to stop himself from wriggling a little seat cushion. “Where are we going? Is it the island? Please say it’s the island!?” 

Completely thrilled he reached out on reflex and patted the air, his coat slipping, “Oh-oh! Or is it America? I’ve always wanted to see New York’s museum of science!”

“Donatello…”

“Oh, or N.A.S.A! Do you think they’d let me in?” 

“Donatello!” 

Donnie fell silent, smiling at Rockwell like a gleeful child, when he realized that Rockwell wasn’t smiling, in fact he was frowning. 

Sensing danger, Donnie began to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I…” When Rockwell did something unexpected. He reached out and caught Donatello’s wrist, pulling his arm towards him. Before Donnie could figure out what he was doing Rockwell had tugged the coat he’d been hiding under loose, exposing his upper plastron.

“What happened?” demanded Rockwell, staring at one of Donatello’s scutes, “They told me you were unharmed.”

Confused, Donatello looked down and found his mistake; he’d revealed the long, but healing cut across the scute on his bicep.

Inwardly cursing he ripped himself free of Rockwell's grip and burrowed back under the coat.

“Are you all right?” asked Rockwell, no longer sounding harsh or angry but concerned. “Donatello answer me. Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” Said Donnie quickly, “It’s just a scratch, it’s nothing.”

“Where else?” ask Rockwell sternly, but Donnie shook his head.

“I’m-“

“Where else!” his father snapped. “I made the mistake of believing you were unharmed, now show me, where else.”

Letting out a sigh, Donatello shifted the coat a little to expose his shoulders where the round bruises from the pound keeper’s cane could still be seen. He had scratches along his collarbone from where a grasping hand had ripped at his collar, and obvious slashes in his plastron and carapace where Lord Gavners horrible son's knife had bounced off him.

Donatello kept his sights focused on the cushions. He hadn’t wanted anyone to see the marks, especially not Rockwell. He wanted him to believe that he could take care of himself, could stand up on his own two feet and do what needed to be done, not think that on top of screwing up everything, that he needed to be coddled and protected from danger like a child…

He wanted Rockwell to be proud of him, not worried…

“I apologize for yelling.” Said Rockwell softly, reaching out to tug Donnie’s blazer back up around his shoulders for him. “I should’ve made sure you were unharmed before voicing my frustration.”

“It’s understandable.” Said Donnie softly, “You believed them, so your concern was elsewhere until you realized they’d lied.”

His father sighed again, oddly quiet for a moment and when Donatello looked up he realized he was watching him almost pityingly. 

“I-I’m fine, really.” Donnie insisted, and to his relief, Rockwell smiled this time. 

“I’m glad.” He murmured. “Next time I expect you to be direct if you’re harmed.”

“Yes Sir.” He nodded, expecting that to be all when his father surprised him by continuing.

“Now. Let us return to the subject of my expedition.”

This time Donatello didn’t dare speak despite the small bubble of excitement that rose in his chest at the mention.

“I wasn’t meant to depart for another month, however, due to current events, we shall be leaving tonight.”

Donatello blinked, his brain ceasing function. 

“When we arrive home, I expect you to bathe and then gather yourself for departure.”

Certain that he was dreaming and possibly still locked in that horrid cage, Donatello nodded. “Uh-um yes! Yes Sir! What uh, what should I pack?”

“Everything has already been taken care of.” Said Rockwell simply, “Once I learned it was the governor's son you’d assaulted-“

“He was stabbing someone and trying to kill them…” Donatello grumbled and received a harsh glare in return.

“-I made sure to make preparations ahead of time.”

Rockwell continued, his glare enough of a warning not to speak again.

“It occurred to me that having you out of sight and mind may be for the best until the memory of what transpired passed from thot. We’ll be gone for at least a year, health permitting we can stretch it out longer.”

“Git out of vwey!” Mr. Steranko’s bellowed from outside, and Rockwell paused, the carriage slowing for only a moment before picking up speed again. 

Donatello waited, hoping Rockwell would continue when oddly he didn’t. Instead, the man looked out the carriage window, strangely distracted.

_‘Oh dear….’_ Inwardly Donatello cringed, _‘He’s never been this upset before. I really messed up this time…’_

“We shall be returning to the island.” Said Rockwell, so softly Donatello almost missed it, “It took a substantial amount of persuasion, verbal and _financial_ to change the date of our departure. The Captain had to give up several financial opportunities that I needed to compensate him for.”

He turned and looked back, meeting Donatello’s gaze once more, “I expect you to thank him appropriately when we depart.”

“I-yes sir!” said Donnie, nodding enthusiastically. It was difficult to contain his excitement, as returning to the island from where he’d originated had been a dream of his for some time, yet somehow, he managed and offered his father a smile. 

“Thank you.” He said quickly, “I promise I will, and I won’t be any more trouble to you or the Caption, I swear it father, I-”

Donatello froze, silently curing as he caught himself too late. 

The man looked incredulous. “Where is your head at?” Rockwell snapped at him, “Back with the kennel keeper?”

“I’m sorry it was a slip of the tongue.” Said Donnie quickly, but Rockwell just sighed in exasperation. 

“In public or the presence of company you are to refer to me as Professor or Sir. Really, Donatello, you're much too old for this.”

Donatello nodded, his gaze snapping to the carriage floor.

“I’m sorry Sir…” murmured Donnie, “It won’t happen again.”

Rockwell straightened and huffed, and all Donatello could do was inwardly groan and sink back into his seat. 

“Thank you…” Donnie added softly, “For allowing me the opportunity to assist you on the island.”

Rockwell snorted, clearly still unamused. “This is not a charity. It’s a punishment. Though…” he chuckled some, “I know that’s not how you will see it. Now is it?”

This time Donatello couldn’t help but smile.

Things were quiet for the rest of the carriage ride, the general clip clop of hooves and chatter from those they passed along central square the only sounds they heard until they drew near the place that Donatello called home.

It started out soft, and then grew into a roar, as angry voices filled the air until they drowned out the clip clop of hooves.

Donatello practically sank into the cushions, refusing to look outside at the uneducated mass of people who were still convinced he was a servant of Satan.

The professor however sighed and glanced out the little window, viewing them with a grimace.

“Such a humiliating display of human intelligence.” he sighed, before tugging its curtain closed.

The gates creaked, the gate guards shouted, and just like always, the horse pulled the cart past the gates without incident. 

Home was a mansion. A massive brick building built by Rockwell’s great grandfather with a large number of rooms, most of them empty, while others were occupied by the servants and guards that Rockwell had been forced to hire as Donatello grew up.

The front was decorated by a cobblestone road, fountains, trees and bushes, set back about an acre away from the stone wall that Rockwell had to have built around the property when Donatello was three.

There were gardens and fruit trees, chestnut and maple trees as well, heavy with spring flowers and foliage that Donatello normally would’ve loved to inspect as the cart pulled by. But, not this time, for his miserable gaze remained fixed on the floor.

He didn't even look up when the carriage came to a stop, nor when the door popped open. 

His head stayed hung all the way into their home. For it was a walk of shame when Donatello finally stepped down onto the cold cobblestone and followed the professor into their house. As he was still very much... naked.

Their butler greeted them as they walked inside, opening the door and welcoming them as always. 

Rockwell didn't even look at him or Donatello as he continued down the hall into their home. “Stevens, see him to his room.” he Ordered, “Make sure Mrs. Hutchens is there before you leave, then come find me immediately.”

Stevens didn't seem bothered, and bowed as always “Yes sir.” Then closed the door behind them and nodded to Donatello.

The walk of shame continued as Donnie followed him through the house. They passed servants who kept their heads bowed or focused on cleaning, the youngest ones whispering as he walked like he couldn’t hear them.

_“It really doesn’t have ears.”_

_“Can you imagine being born looking like that?”_

_“My heaven, it's hands. Look at its hands.”_

_“Does it really have a shell?”_

He hunched into himself more and more with every harsh whisper, and all he found himself able to do was thank God that the coat Mr. Zeck had lent him was long enough to cover his tail. And, well…his shell. A woman once fainted at the mere sight of it; he wasn’t sure what they’d do if they ever noticed _that_ accursed thing hanging down behind him.

He clutched the coat in closer, his tail tucking tight up against his shell with his cheeks burning with shame.

When they finally reached his room and Mr. Stevens opened his door, he was beyond grateful to finally step inside. Only to be greeted the moment he walked in, by a pitying groan.

“Oooh Donatello, love.” 

A thin white woman dressed in a black and white gown came rushing to him with a blanket in hand. 

She looked almost like April but much older, with strawberry blond hair tied in a neat bun atop her head and a pair of dark brown eyes that were always kind and loving. 

Looking worried, she threw the blanket around his shoulders and quickly ushered him inside. “Good lord, you’ll catch a chill.” She tittered.

As Donatello was pulled in, he heard the butler depart with a soft recognition of the House Keeper. “Mrs. Hutchens.” before the door creaked closed.

The little woman didn't bother to respond and wasted no time as she practically dragged Donatello into the bathroom and over to a claw-foot tub filled with water. It was freshly filled, the water still steaming, yet Donatello viewed it with disdain as he was pulled up beside it.

When she turned to fetch something he took a step back, about to return to the bedroom, when the housekeeper turned back on reflex and stopped him.

“Come now.” she whispered and he felt her hand grip the collar of his coat, “Let’s not fuss this time. You smell like a kennel.”

Begrudgingly Donatello allowed the coat to slip and ignored the sharp gasp as his bruises and sliced scut were revealed.

“Oh love.” She whispered, sounding absolutely mortified, “They said you were unharmed.”

Mrs. Hutchens was probably the only person in the world apart from Rockwell that Donatello allowed to see him so bare without a fight. She’d tended to him all his life and was one of the few people who didn’t shy away or cringe at the sight of his scales or shell. Hearing her so upset over him and his mistake was heartbreaking.

“I’m fine.” He murmured.

Covering himself as much as possible he shifted over to the tubs edge and again peered down into the water. 

“Fine my ass.” She grumbled, and he felt her reach up along his neck and unclip his collar, “I’ll wallop the rotten codger who did this.”

“I said I’m fine.” Donnie snapped and immediately regretted his tone. Shoulders sagging, he sighed. “I- I’m sorry Mrs. Hutchens. It’s…it’s just-“

“The water,” she interrupted, looking far more understanding than she should’ve, “plus you’ve had a rough few days. Now you know I’d love to let you be, but you also know I can’t go until you’re in. Professors orders.”

Again Donatello sighed, though this time it was in defeat. 

“Ok.” He said simply, and he gripped the edge of the tub.

“Oh love.” He heard her sigh as he lifted a long green leg and slid it into the water, “One day you’ll grow stronger than your fear, just as everyone around you will grow stronger than theirs.”

He shuddered as he slid the rest of himself into the water, pushing down the urge to flee it, and leaned back against the tub.

“You think so?” he asked, finally looking at her.

The kind woman had her back to him as she fluffed some towels, giving him as much privacy as she could while waiting to make sure he took his bath.

“Everyone has their time dear.” She answered, “One day you’ll be walking down the street side by side with the professor without even needin a leash.”

He smiled hopefully and gently reached up to the spot where his collar usually sat. “Like a person?” he asked, and the woman nodded. “Without my collar even?”

That gave her pause, and his hopes fell.

She turned this time and met his gaze without repulsion, looking almost sad. 

“Baby steps love.” She replied, “The world is taking them right along with you, you just need to let them catch up is all.”

She gestured to the bath where some soap and a cloth had been left. 

“Get cleaned up and make sure you’re presentable. I’m sure the O’Neil’s will want to see you before you go, so stay in that tub.” She shook a finger at him as though to press the point then turned for the door. 

“I’ll get this coat back to who it belongs-“

“Mr. Zeck.” Donatello answered even though it wasn’t a question.

“-ah! Such a kind black man.” She continued, “He’s always taken favor to you.”

“He has?” Donnie asked, a bit surprised by that, and the old woman nodded. 

“Of course,” she chuckled, “he relates. Because he knows what it’s like to be treated like an animal. Now, wash up, and I do mean it. I’ll be back to check on you.”

She pointed a finger at him again and warned, “If I smell any bit of that kennel when I get back, I’ll drag you in here and wash you myself."

“Yes ma’am.” He said, quickly grabbing the soap and washcloth, “No kennel smell. I promise.”

She huffed and picked up the jacket and collar. “Better not be.” Then walked out of the small room.

Once she was gone, Donatello rolled the soap in the little washcloth but didn’t do anything else, allowing the suds to build and build…

After everything. Saving someone’s life, a homosexual but still a life, being caught by police and dragged into a cage like an animal, being stripped of his clothing and treated like the lowest of dogs by a disgusting man… he couldn’t help but smile.

His mind was racing, as was his heart. Like the last few days hadn't happened or even mattered.

The island. He was actually going to the island and would be assisting the professor. Something that he'd only ever dreamed of since the first time Rockwell told him the story of where Donatello had been found.

**Author's Note:**

> (This fic will be continued at our leisure. We are posting it so that we have some motivation to keep writing on something/anything while we fight through writer's block with our other fics)


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